The Translator
by blacklikemysoul
Summary: Ziva may have saved her life in Cairo, but Jenny's affection for her developed long before Ziva officially joined Mossad. AU. Pre-NCIS. I just like figuring out how Ziva ticks. Let me know what you think!


_Hmm. That one was not quite centered. Maybe I should...._

"Ziva!"

"What, Michael?!"

"Your _Ab_ wants you in his office. Says he's got a job for you."

"Mmm," Ziva muttered as she squeezed off one more shot with her 9mm, right into the model's groin.

"Ouch. You know it wasn't my idea to interrupt you on the range; I'm just following orders, Zivaleh."

Ziva smiled slightly as she tucked her gun into her ankle holster and then darted off toward her father's office.

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"Enter!"

"You summoned me, sir?" Ziva inquired in her heavily accented English, following her father's lead. Though she was standing at attention and seemed to be focused solely on him, she couldn't fail to notice the young red head seated across from him.

"How many days do you have left until school begins again, Ziva?"

"Twenty eight, sir."

"That should be more than enough. Ziva, this is Special Agent Shepphard from the United States Naval Criminal Investigative Service. She is here on the request of the US Navy working on a counterterrorism op."

Ziva nodded a greeting, concentrating on her father's words.

"You will provide translation services for Agent Shepphard while she is here."

"Yes, sir."

"Get a copy of her files from Officer Zidon and go to conference room 3. I will send her in a few moments."

Ziva nodded to her father, snapped her heels, and spun to walk out the door.

"Oh, and Zivaleh..."

She spun around again and looked into her father's face, "Sir?"

"The results from your exams are in and you've been moved up an extra level. You will be graduating a year earlier than planned."

Ziva nodded her understanding and left the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

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_She can't be more than 10 years old! _Jenny thought incredulously. _What is she even doing here, much less working for Mossad? _

"I am sure, Agent Shepphard, that my daughter will do an excellent job translating for you."

_His daughter?_

"English is not her best language, but she is competent in it and her Arabic is as good as her Hebrew. If, however, you have _any_ problems with her, let me know. She can be a little difficult, stubborn."

"I'm sure she will do an excellent job. Thank you, Deputy Director David."

Jenny stood and followed the man waiting outside the door to a barren room that contained only a long table and a compliment of hard chairs at which to sit. At the head of the table, opposite from the door, sat the girl Jenny had just seen in the Deputy Director's office, head bent over a file with her long, tight curls falling in her face and a look of frustrated concentration on her face as her gaze alternated from the file to the notepad she was scribbling on.

Without glancing up, she gave curt orders in a rapid Hebrew that Jenny could not follow, causing the Mossad officer to quickly turn and walk from the room. When he was gone, she switched to English but still did not look up. "Please have a seat, Agent Shepphard."

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_Americans are so ridiculous! They send a woman on a counterterrorism op that can't even speak Arabic. _Ziva huffed and impatiently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before returning her focus to the file in front of her, which contained a mass of correspondences, mostly in Arabic. _Oh well... I suppose it is a chance to practice my English._

From the click of heels and the swish of two pairs of pants, Ziva knew that Officer Basan and Agent... Farmer? Rancher? Shepherd! were swiftly approaching the conference room.

"Unless you have other orders from my father, go get some tea for Agent Shepphard and myself and then return to your duties," Ziva snapped, knowing from experience that harsh orders were obeyed more quickly than requests. She heard Officer Basan's quick retreat and allowed herself a small smile at the knowledge that she, at 14, could elicit a glimmer of fear from a grown man.

Returning her gaze to the file, she switched to English and said more kindly, "Please have a seat, Agent Shepphard."

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After hours of sitting in the uncomfortable room with the young girl, exchanging information and comparing her translation with that provided by the Navy's intelligence officers, Jenny knew much more about the terrorist cell than she had learned in the four months she had been following them.

Although she was intently focused on her task, Jenny could not help but be amazed by the child sitting across from her. Ziva's gaze held all of the intensity of the Mossad officers that Jenny had met during her short stay in Israel. And, despite the Deputy Director's warning, Ziva's English was excellent, if formal and a tiny bit awkward.

"Do you mind if we take a break?" Jenny inquired during a break in the flow of information.

"I suppose not," Ziva replied, looking at her watch. "Americans eat early, yes?"

Jenny grinned as her stomach grumbled in reply.

"I will take you to a nearby restaurant if you wish. Have you tired of our food yet? If so, there is an Italian restaurant close by."

"Whatever you want is fine with me. After all, you live here so I'm sure you know the good restaurants," Jenny replied.

Ziva nodded, closed the file and gestured toward the door. After both she and Jenny had exited, she closed and locked the door behind them and then, to Jenny's surprise, walked to a nearby locker and drew out two guns, one of which she strapped to her waist and one of which she put in a holster concealed at her ankle. She then stood up and led Jenny out the door.

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Ziva watched the woman across from her squirm, obviously uncomfortable in the hard chair and quickly losing attention. _Americans have no discipline. We've only been here for four hours and she's already squirming like a child. _

Ziva looked up once again from her file after hearing Agent Shepphard's stomach rumble with hunger. In the brief lull in conversation, Jenny asked for a break and Ziva, taking sympathy on her, agreed to take her to dinner. _On the positive side, I can pay with Abs credit card since this is Mossad business_, she thought with satisfaction. Although Ziva in most ways very different from her peers, she still enjoyed spending her father's money.

Exiting the room, she strapped on her guns out of habit and felt the American stiffen beside her. Ziva supressed a smile at her obvious shock. _No discipline and soft._ _I wonder if she walks around the streets of D.C. without a gun._

Ziva cautiously led her to a local restaurant, automatically keeping a lookout for suspicious activity, just as her father had trained her.

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"So Ziva, your father mentioned that you're going to graduate early? What grade are you in?" Jenny inquired, curious about the mini-Mossad officer that had been assigned to her.

"Grade?" Ziva sipped her water with an eyebrow raised inquiringly.

"Umm... level in school."

"Oh. I will be in the 6th form."

Now it was Jenny's turn to look confused.

Ziva paused and then continued slowly, "It is the 11th year of school. The year before graduation from secondary school."

"Wow," said Jenny, unable to control her surprise. "How old are you?"

A flash of annoyance flitted across her face, so quickly that Jenny was unsure that she had seen it at all. However, she replied almost instantaneously, "I am 14."

Jenny had expected her to be young, but hoped that Ziva looked younger than she actually was. Knowing that she was 14, Jenny was suddenly saddened by her maturity, wariness, and comfort in the world of assassins, sabotage, and competition in which she so obviously lived.

"So, how much time do you spend at... your dad's office."

"This is my second summer to be an intern. I have trained on the range and in the gym for much longer than that."

"Are you planning on following in his footsteps?"

"What else would I do?" Ziva asked with what Jenny thought might be defeat.

"Well, is there anything you particularly enjoy about school? Any hobby that you would like to follow?"

Ziva shook her head. "It will be my duty and honor to serve my country after I graduate. My father has already spoken to someone in the IDF and I will be allowed to join as soon as I graduate instead of having to wait until I turn 18."

"How old will you be?"

"I will have just turned 16."

"And they're letting you in the army!" Jenny couldn't help exclaiming. _Of all the ridiculous things... I wish I could rescue this girl and take her home with me. She shouldn't have to be an adult yet._

The annoyed expression on Ziva's face was more clear now and Jenny found herself flinching in the face of the tiny girl.

"Sorry," she muttered. "It's just..."

"It is very different here," Ziva responded acidly. "You may be allowed a long childhood in your country but here we must grow up quickly or risk a sudden and painful death."

Jenny was once again overwhelmed by sadness as she looked into Ziva's eyes and saw only an undisturbed placidity that disturbed her more than Ziva's unflinching perspective on death.

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After 10 days, Ziva had finally finished the translations for Agent Shepphard, generously teaching her as much Arabic as possible in the the process. She sighed with relief as they finished discussing the last phrase in the correspondence.

"Happy to see me go?" Jenny asked softly.

"No," Ziva smiled hesitantly at her, chagrined that she had let down her guard and shown her frustration. "I am merely disinclined to such inactivity. I would much rather be sparring or practicing throwing my knives."

Jenny smiled. She had suspected as much and was once again impressed by the girl's discipline.

Ziva rose from her chair, grasping the files, and Jenny followed her to the Deputy Director's office, where Ziva gave the files to the Officer Basan before stepping into her father's office. He offered Jenny a seat but left Ziva standing at attention next to his chair while Jenny gave the report. Periodically, he barked at Ziva in Hebrew and she pointed out sections of Jenny's file or responded in a quick murmur.

Following the debriefing, Jenny was led out of the office. While she filled out a small amount of paperwork at Officer Basan's desk, she heard the Deputy Director's voice drop to a menacing undertone occasionally answered by a voice very different from the Ziva she had grown fond of: uncertain and flat rather than confident and spirited, even with its precision.

_I hope her life turns out better than she expects. _Jenny thought, once again wishing that she could take the girls back to the States with her. _And if I ever get the chance, I will get her out of here._


End file.
